


When They Met

by VikingPin



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alpha Bruce Wayne, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beta Alfred Pennyworth, Beta Lois Lane, Getting to Know Each Other, Identity Porn, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, Omega Clark Kent, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Smart!Clark - Freeform, Sometimes Bruce goes on tangents about Clark, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change, World's Greatest Detective my ass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-06-22 05:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15574992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VikingPin/pseuds/VikingPin
Summary: At that moment Bruce realized he wasn't dealing with a Beta with hidden teeth, but an Omega wielding with knives. Dangerous indeed. "Mr.Wayne?"Bruce was standing there like a feckless idiot staring into space. Shaking himself from the trance, and placing a bashful and somewhat apologetic smile on his face, "Apologizes, I blanked ou-,""Wasn't expecting an Omega." It wasn't a question and was said with a bland smile like the statement wasn't said with blunt surety. It was cutting and screamed of someone who was done with your shit yesterday. "It is perfectly fine. I get that more than you think, with the Beta suit, Beta job, Alpha physique." Not your classic Omega indeed.(A random excerpt from chapter 1 because the author is shit at writing a summary)





	1. When Bruce saw Clark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this. This is my first story I've had the courage to write and post. I have no beta so all mistakes are mine.

RATING: G  
WORD COUNT: 1444  
POV: Bruce  


:::

When Bruce first saw Clark Kent, he hadn't thought much of him. It was at a charity event, a rather boring one at that. Bruce was having a monotonous conversation that wasn’t about anything in particular. Nothing more than a vacant smile and a few well-placed nods worked.

Kent was a sight, tall and lean looking in his suit, attractive in a homely manner. He screamed conventional beta, unassuming and pleasant enough. The suit was the only assuming thing about him, burgundy and Beta cut. It was a bold color, but slightly ill-fitting.

It was out of the corner of Bruce's eye is when he saw it. A shift in the man's demeanor, that had up until that point been woefully uninteresting and passive. It was then he saw a predator stalking prey. Kent moved gracefully, with purpose. None of the apologetic shuffling of earlier. Kent became someone else. The fleeting thought of _a wolf in the sheep's pen_ came to mind. Following Kent's line of sight, Bruce saw his mark, Simon Stagg, Alpha, a man as corrupt as they come. Someone with the affinity for the pretty, Kent didn't have the traditional Beta looks. He was pretty, however, in a soft Omega sense with an odd sharpness to his features that was perfect in it's disobedience to the convention, alien even. Before Bruce could see how this interaction went, he was drawn back into his "conversation" if it could be called that. When he looked up again Kent was nowhere to be seen, and Stagg was holding his drink with bruising strength. _How intriguing._

* * *

Bruce was fortunate for the glimpse, he knew to be even more cautious than usual around this reporter. He should have known from the moment he ever read something Kent wrote. He is sharp, sharper than most reporters, he asked _uncomfortable_ questions and uses words like a master swordsman that gutted his opponents like nothing. Dangerous. Bruce, however, was not one to back away from a challenge. When _'The Daily Planet'_ requested an interview with Kent. How could he refuse something so interesting.

When Kent entered the office, he didn't look terrible notable. The most notable things were the horrendous color of his tie, disgustingly mustard, and thick glasses. He held out his hand, "Mr. Wayne, thank you for your time," it was a firm enough handshake, but it gave an air of haplessness, like a child doing the job of an adult. And that's when it hits him. A sweet unobtrusive smell that was wonderful, like his childhood, before his parents, when he had a real pack. It was warm, it was safe, it was _home_. At that moment Bruce realized he wasn't dealing with a Beta with hidden teeth, but an Omega wielding with knives. Dangerous indeed. "Mr.Wayne?"

Bruce was standing there like a feckless idiot staring into space. Shaking himself from the trance, and placing a bashful and somewhat apologetic smile on his face, "Apologizes, I blanked ou-,"

"Wasn't expecting an Omega." It wasn't a question and was said with a bland smile like the statement wasn't said with blunt surety. It was cutting and screamed of someone who was done with your shit yesterday. "It is perfectly fine. I get that more than you think, with the Beta suit, Beta job, Alpha physique." Not your classic Omega indeed. Kent was tall with broad shoulders, making his suit hang off of him obscuring the rest of his figure. There was no denying it however, he wasn't just attractive. No, up close, he was _gorgeous_. Alpha pride must keep others away, Bruce suspects. Lesser Alphas like tiny, dainty Omegas to keep as something more ethical than pets. Perhaps Kent's personality didn't help, he didn't seem like the type to willingly kneel. He wouldn't be interesting if he did. Kent definitely hit some arbitrary checkbox in Bruce's mind that he himself wasn't aware was there.

Kent walked past him. Setting his satchel next to the chair in the small lounge area in the office. Bruce walked over and took a seat in front of the other man. A few minutes passed as Kent set up, "Would you mind if I record this Mr. Wayne?"  
"Bruce, please, and not at all," the corner of Kent's mouth twitched upward at that as he placed a recorder on the table. _Old school_ , Bruce thought, _most would use a phone._

Taking a deep centering breath, "Only if you call me Clark then. How was your time abroad, Bruce?" Odd to say the least. He'd been back for almost a year.

"It was wonderful, but I doubt you want to hear about details long gone over." Clark chuckled at this.

"Yes the 'pleasantries of Europe' I believe it was put," a smile played at his lips, "While you were gone Wayne Enterprises took on some interesting projects."

"Most of those were discontinued." The smile grew slightly, and Bruce had the sinking feeling that he played into some sort of trap. Like he and Kent were playing a game that couldn't be seen, and Bruce lost before it began. A game that started when he accepted the interview, not when they sat down. Or did it start when he saw Clark? The sensation was exhilarating, to say the least.

"Of course, but not the "force field" technology developed by WayneTech."

"No. There could be some practical and life-saving applications. The government has also given us funding for its potential use to save soldiers lives." Clark made noncommittal hum and tilted his head, exposing his neck slightly. It wasn't submissive per say, but Bruce felt the nagging itch in his hindbrain, _Omega._

"What of the W-4 Wraith, which after failing a few tests fell into the hands of criminals?"

:::

The interview went on for some time. Kent had a way that led Bruce into talking more than he meant to. It stemmed from a sophisticated knowledge of the brain. Clark to use this knowledge ruthlessly with small gestures that meant nothing in social conventions, but everything to the hindbrain. It was a head tilt, a minute blush, a flutter of eyelashes, and the Holy Grail, a smile. It all triggered Bruce's instinct to impress, and every one of those nothing motions just fed into Alpha pride, and Kent knew this. The only way to get those small gestures worth everything in gold was to give information.

"Yes, well your company has done some rather amazing things, Bruce." Bruce braced himself. This is how it started, a small general compliment, a gesture, the question, the answer, and then a smile. The more information given the bigger the smile. Pavlovian to say the least.

Kent averted his eyes and bit down a little on his lip. _Yes._ "Like having some interesting, not illegal, accounting in the past year." Clark smoothly took at a stuffed blue manila folder, and placed it on the table, "By my estimate and some light digging," gesturing to the folder, "there must be a few million dollars misplaced and diverted somewhere."

Bruce stared at the folder in disbelief. A game indeed, and they were now in the homestretch every word and question was leading to this. Kent was _training_ him to respond to his movements. Whoever said Omegas were timid, and subservient to Alphas clearly never met one like Clark goddamn Kent. "Now that's just for your company." Smiling, a brilliant radiant thing, he placed a tan folder atop the blue one, it was just as big. _More_. "This is what I found in your personal finance. You give quite a lot to small temples scattered across Asia, dojos in Japan, a few universities here and there. So I have to ask, how was your time abroad, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce's mind went haywire. The company was easy to cover for, but himself there was only two people to blame, himself or Alfred, both not optimal, and one was the best solution. Just as Bruce opened his mouth to say who knows what, Kent reached for his recorder, "I'll leave that with you," pointing at the folders. "Wouldn't want information like that falling into less ethical hands." Gathering his bag, and letting out a content sigh, "I think I have enough to write an article." With that he left, like he hadn't blown a hole into Bruce's chest, like he hadn't pointed Bruce wasn't reshuffling assets enough, like he hadn't cut Bruce down a peg or seven, like he hadn't utterly destroyed Bruce with a smile.

For the first time since coming back, he felt completely and wonderfully outclassed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always viewed Clark to be smarter than he is in the comics. Like he is from a race of genetically engineered people, raised under a yellow sun, and whose parents where geniuses among geniuses. So needless to say Clark in this is a lot smarter than he lets on. Also may Clark is a bit more of a realist, like he still wants the world to be a better place, and sees the best in people, but like there needs to be a line between the endless optimism and the more realist Clark.
> 
> Comment below any thoughts, ideas or critiques. I have a good amount of the plot mapped out in my head like I know how I want it to end, but input would be great.


	2. So We Meet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normally when people meet up, they do normal things. Late night B&E is normal… right?

RATING: T  
WORD COUNT: 3,034  
POV: Bruce & Clark  


~[B]~

Kent never wrote about the latter part of the interview, much to Bruce's relief and dismay. Clark's information was thorough, to say the least; he even left time and date stamps on everything. It was a roadmap of how often Bruce needed to reshuffle. It was months of research, worth a small fortune Kent handed over. Something lesser people wouldn't dream of doing, and he does without a second thought. He is a rare breed, but Bruce could not blindly put his faith into that.

The earliest timestamp was from six months prior. Bruce thought back trying to find anything that could have tipped Clark off until he found it. WayneTech releasing a new line a body armor, it was a least a month and a half after the Batsuit made its debut. It was like he poured an absurd amount of energy into Bruce's finances for the pure curiosity of it. The more Bruce thought about the more likely it seemed that it was exactly that. Clark was curious, but could he trust that.

Bruce glanced at the screen off to the side of the monitor. Kent was in his hotel room, a dingy thing fairly close the East End. He hasn’t done anything too interesting in Gotham. Visited help and crisis centers and a few homes, talked to a few people here and there since their meeting. The files on his laptop, however, spoke otherwise. Kent was looking into a few cases of Omega disappearances in the Suicide Slums. It is well known the slums of Metropolis has a limited police presence. Not even the Superman bothers to try. Apparently, Metropolis needs a sharp Omega reporter more than a casteless alien god. By Kent’s files, it looks like few disappearances were even reported.

Bruce sighed and shook his head. Instead of focusing on Kent’s work, he should get back to more pressing matters, his own. There have been at least two deaths in the past month. The victims only relation was the fact they were low income, and they had a drastic increase in adrenaline, inducing cardiac arrest.. Bruce felt a presence next to him. "I see voyeurism has been added to the ever-growing list of neuroses you have, Master Bruce."

"Alfred."

"Yes, well, I apologize to inform you that you have to give up your vigil," raising a questioning eyebrow. When Bruce didn't respond he continued, "If you want to be ready ‘fashionably late’ entrance to The Gotham Museum of Art." There was no way to get out of this and Bruce knew it. He vaguely remembered the invitation from several weeks prior, and it was funded by the _Martha Wayne Foundation._

Alfred was by the stairs when Bruce called out, "He knows I'm watching."

"Of course, Master Bruce."

"I'm serious. His password is _'Snooping_Bats?'_ he knows, or at least he suspects." Alfred hummed as he ascended the stairs.

:::

His date, Evangeline Chamberlain, was model with a harsh drawn-out laugh and smile like a plastic. She'd laugh and smile at everything, batted her eyes in a coquettish fashion, and clung to Bruce like a lifeline. Like if she let go for even a second he'd slip away, good instincts Bruce supposed. She spoke in vague approximations of opinions when he'd ask her about the art pieces. In general statements about her work that no one could disagree with. She wasn't the worst date he's had since returning, but that was a fairly low threshold.

They made a lazy circuit around the room when Bruce got his chance. Evangeline stiffened slightly as she looked at the bar. She then smirked and shook her head, leaning in and drawing meaningless shapes on his chest, purring, "Bruce, darling, I've spotted an old friend, and I must say hello." Bruce glanced toward the bar and spotted a disgruntled blonde woman sitting there. Leaning closer so his lips ghosted her ear, "Of course," pulling back and fixing a lascivious smile, "I'm going to get some air if you don't mind." Evangeline turned her head and giggled before sauntering away.

Bruce walked along the edge of the room avoiding people’s gaze and conveniently not hearing requests to join them until he made it to the balcony. The humidity was a reasonable trade-off for peace and quiet, only he wasn't alone. There was a man hunched over the railing with a phone pressed between his shoulder and ear, looking through a notebook. "You done with the rant, Lo?" he chuckled lightly, "Yeah okay, I'll talk to you later." With a sigh, Clark put his phone into his inner jacket pocket.

"Mr. Kent, fancy seeing you here," Bruce called out with a glib smile.

Clark stiffened and glanced over his shoulder, "Mr. Wayne, good evening."

"Back to Mr. Wayne are we?" Bruce said drifting toward the railing taking a place next to Clark.

All the while tracking Bruce, "Back to Mr. Kent?"

"Touché. So want is a fine young man, much like yourself, doing out here in this humidity?" Clark eyed him for a moment before a small smile started to form.

"Same as you I suppose," studying his face for a second, "trying to find a little peace and quiet before a long night." Bruce felt on edge for a moment then forced himself to relax. The party hummed along in the background. Bruce felt like he could relax even if it was a little here, it was an odd but not unwelcomed sensation. Meeting Clark's gaze, "You planning on a long night?" giving a tentative smile.

"No, it'll be a slow one in my room," a coy smile blossomed as he bumped Bruce's shoulder, "Some say I'm there right now."

"Quite the magic trick you got there."

"So I've been told. Anyway, I might hit up a nightclub downtown."

"Diamond District?"

"Yeah."

"Sounds a little dangerous. Gotham's not a safe place at night."

"Probably is, and is it ever safe?"

"Not really."

"So, I should never go out is what you're saying," raising a playful eyebrow.

"Maybe you shouldn't have came, Gotham has a way of tainting good things."

"Sometimes good things need to be tainted."

"It'll destroy you."

“I'm hard to put done for long.”

“It’ll hunt you.”

“Good, I’m up for a chase,” leaning in and whispering, "I'm pretty fast."

“Maybe, Gotham will leave dangling from a building,” falling into a wolfish grin that was surprisingly genuine.

Clark chuckled, “Only if it catches me first, and even then…,” glancing at Bruce for a moment, “… I sincerely doubt that.”

Tilting his head to the side with a smirk, “You don’t think they’re game?”

“No, they’re game. It’s not Gotham’s style now, is it? Decides I don’t think that’s what they want to do now is it, Bruce.”

"No. It's not."

"Then what does Gotham want?" They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Then the door opened suddenly and the thrum of the showcase flitted onto the balcony breaking whatever relaxing quality it had. Bruce and Clark pulled away from each other. The clacking of heels filled the air, punctuated by a surprisingly strong grip on his arm, "Brucie, I've been looking all over for you." Evangeline stared up at him with a piercing gaze and a twisted smile that was unnerving, glancing at Clark every so often. Clark sent a sympathetic look his, "It was great talking to you again Mr. Wayne," moving away with the careful precision of someone defusing a bomb.

"Yeah, I'll see you later, Mr. Kent."

* * *

~[C]~

_The Iceberg Lounge_ was a posh nightclub, that was an odd mixture of modernism and film noir. There was an opulence to the place that was inaccessible to the public. Glittering glass and frosty temperatures hiding backrooms and unsavory business.

It wasn't especially hard to get into as a no-name journalist: a suit that toed the line of Omega, a sumptuous jacket, ditch the glasses, apply some heat vision to change his eye color and none of the maintenance involved in hiding his scent. Clark can generally get into any high-end place he wanted. He'd have to play the stereotype of the "Charming Omega". Laugh at everything, bat your eyes, tease every suitor, try not to be too opinionated, the works no... matter how exhausting.

As Clark walked into the lounge he could feel the stares of the other patrons preying down on him. He held his head higher and walked with a sway to the bar, letting a scent of an unbound Omega roll off of him. Sitting down, he ordered a martini and waited. It was only a matter of time before it started.

:::

It took about ten minutes before the first person came, an alpha, and after her, the floodgates opened. There was a small frenzy of alphas, betas, and maybe an omega or two milling around him. People were primping, preening, posturing. Drinks getting shoved into his vicinity only to be passed over for the one he was nursing. The sound of barely there growls only noticeable to him, glares, crooning, the occasional purr, shy smiles and stray touches testing boundaries. It was a dizzying jumble of hormones and scents assaulting him left and right.

Swarming was to be expected, he wanted it to happen. The amount of Omega hormone that pumped through Clark's system was, by Terran standards, dangerously high. Almost enough to be classified as a disability. He had come to terms with the fact that he can't walk around without dampening his scent. People had a tendency to swarm him, heck he utilized the urge people had to be around someone that smelled so fertile, but it never made it better. It served reminded Clark people wanted his abilities one way or another. His caste was just another tool in the toolbox.

A low but noticeable growl snapped Clark out of his thoughts. The air was tinged with Alpha fight hormones. It wasn't a grand gesture of dominance, more like the growling and posturing, but it would suffice. The crowd around him seemed drawn into the show of aggression. Enough for Clark to slip away, and no one would think odd of it.

He walked toward the bathroom with slight but controlled urgency. If anyone reviewed the footage it should appear that he was simply distress. Once in the bathroom, he did quick a wash around his neck and wrists to dampen his scent, even if it was by a minute amount, before putting on a scent blocking collar. It wasn't going to block his scent completely without any scent guards so other precautions would have to be taken. Doing a scan of the building he found the Cobblepot's office and made a mental map of where guards were.

Standing in front of the door, Clark took a deep breath and slowed down. The building went from a dull hum to silence around him. He wasn't freezing time itself, more like slowing his perception of it - moving between the picoseconds. Clark never considered this his super speed; it was more like speed adjacent. Super speed didn't slow down his perception just sped up his reflexes. This was more like, flexing his mental capabilities.

Stepping out into the hall, Clark began to set forth toward his goal. Moving around people, and careful not to displace anything as to not draw suspicion. He made it to the office, and let time fall back into place. Walking over to the large desk, Clark put on his glasses and a pair of latex gloves. There was no computer, but then again pen and paper would be an added line of security against The Bat. Speaking which, Clark extended his hearing slightly to pick up on the roar of the... _Batmobile?_ Judging by the distance and direction, Bruce was heading downtown, and if he was heading here, Clark had about four and a half minutes.

X-raying the office he found a lead-lined safe, a few documents, and ledgers. The ledger had barely anything of consequence for the most part until Clark got to a series of pages with what looked like serial numbers, three-letter combinations, fake names, and monetary amounts. Clark pulled out his phone and took a picture of the five or so pages before moving on. The documents were mostly business related, although some numbers didn't add up, so Clark got a picture of that as well. He had two minutes. The safe had a combination lock that didn't take too long to open. Inside was money, a gun, a velvet sack with what felt like diamonds in it, and a folder. Giving the folder a once over showed something unexpected. It detailed pharmaceutical and street drugs, neurotransmitters, and hormones, as well as rut and heat inducers. _Shit._

Clark stood tucking the folder into the inner pocket of his coat. He made his way to the desk and sat on it, reaching into his suit pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit up. Listening to Bruce's footfalls and the soft whirring of the grappling hook.

* * *

~[B]~

Bruce got home a few minutes past eleven and decided to go out for the night much to Alfred's displeasure. Bruce wasn't one hundred percent sure why he was going to _The Iceberg_. It could be a number of reasons: new information on the criminal underground, an oddly quiet night, the fact he made no headway on his current case. _Clark,_ his mind supplied helpfully. If Kent were to get in trouble it wouldn't be good if he got injured, he is a guest in Gotham, after all. He also didn't seem particularly concerned with the potential for injury. Someone needed to make sure the reporter didn't get shot, might as well be Batman.

:::

Bruce made his way to the Diamond District. A glittering spot against the starless black sky. He left the Batmobile about five blocks away from the lounge, grappling toward it. Perched on the building opposite of the lounge watching, Bruce saw a flicker of movement. Stalking forward to investigate, he saw Clark leaning against the desk blowing out a steady stream of smoke. It was apparent that he wasn't a smoker; there was a mechanical efficiency to his movements, the occasional long drag and quick exhale. There was, however, an elegance to his movements that gave the air that he does this on a regular basis, but Clark doesn't look truly relaxed the way most people would. There's a slight tension in his stance. He stirred slightly like he had forgotten himself for a moment. Balancing the cigarette between his lips, he walked around the desk staring at it for a moment, before ducking down and searching it.

Whilst Clark was distracted, Bruce made his move. Silently he made his way to the window and slipped in. The room was heavy with the smell of smoke. Dampening any scent with its acrid odor. _Smart._ Clark's head popped up from behind the desk. Exhaling smoke through his nose while jamming the cigarette into an already full ashtray across the desk. "Detective, what a pleasant surprise." The smile Clark unleashed was like a gut punch, it was bright and summery like sunlight, leaving Bruce speechless. He emerged from the desk with a piece of paper in hand. Keeping his voice carefully neutral, Bruce asked, "What are you doing here?"

Walking over to Bruce, "Having a look around. Here, found this," holding the paper out, "Thought it might be of some interest to you." Bruce skimmed the document, it detailed a drug shipment scheduled for next week, "...Thank you." While he was skimming the page Clark began to circle around him. Keeping his head inclined Bruce watched Clark move. He certainly was a striking figure: his suit was fitted, coat hanging off his shoulders like a cape, shirt slightly unbuttoned revealing his neck that was adorned with a simple black collar, the unapologetic confidence he exudes, something straight out of film noir. He glided across the floor with an unnatural grace. None of the hostile jerky movements of an aggressive Alpha. It was something calculating and deadly. Bruce's head tingled as something he didn't want to put a name to crossed his mind. At this moment Bruce honestly thought he was looking at a force that could eviscerate everything, and it was _enthralling._

Clark cleared his throat, "You wouldn't happen to have a smoke grenade on you or anything would you?"

"I do."

"May I have one?"

"Why?"

"It'll get me out of a jam." Clark circled around him, resting his chin on Bruce's shoulder, "Care to be my hero, Detective." Bruce felt a soft rumble against his back, and for some reason, his inner alpha took visceral pleasure in it.

"Fine."

"Great," Clark says with a smile, "Unleash it and let's get going, we don't want to be here when the sprinklers activate."

:::

They watch as people rushed out of the building. Clark turned to him with a soft smile on his face, "Thanks for the assist." Bruce made a noncommittal grunt in response, "So... what brings you 'round?"

"You."

"Me?" he said eyeing Bruce, "Why I had no idea I was doing something to warrant such a attention."

Bruce tilted his head, "Breaking and entering."

"Hey, I've been told felonies are a great way to get someone to notice you. That and jumping off buildings of course."

"I thought you weren't looking for attention."

"I'm not," Clark beamed.

They fell into a comfortable silence watching the people mill about beneath them from the fire escape. Bruce realized that this may be the most he's ever spoken on patrol, "Are you planning on jumping off a building anytime soon?"

Confusion flashed in Clark's eyes for a second before he perked up, "Oh!" a chuckle escapes. He holds a hand to his mouth and snickers, "No, no I'm not. Big Blue doesn't seem to appreciate it when Lois does it, and I doubt you would either." He has a loose smile on his face that makes Bruce's heart flutter. Clark, by some instance of divination, seems to know what Bruce's treacherous body is doing, and stares at him for a second before asking, "Wanna get out of here?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is the continuation of this, which I'm calling Not-A-Date Night in my files. Which will be posted when ever I finish it, but it could take some time writing since I'm starting school soon (like Monday kms).
> 
> Any who, I imagine this Clark to be more of himself (Just Clark) and a little less Clark Kent (mild-mannered journalist) because he has an added layer of protection separating himself from Superman, since who is going to think The Man of Steel is actually an Omega.
> 
> I don't really touch on it in this chapter, but I was really inspired by the social phenomenon around Second Wave Feminism, and the issues that the movement fought for, so that's what sort of going on socially in the background. This does however take place in 21st century.


	3. Another Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a little hard to write, so it might be a little rough. I had a totally different ending to this and then my brain went nah sooo here we go. Sorry it's a pretty inner monologue heavy if that's not your thing.
> 
> Anyways, it seems that I'm keeping a consistent schedule of uploading on Sundays every two weeks. I won't make any promises I'll keep that especially as the school year gets busier, but I'd like to upload at least once every two weeks.
> 
> All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always welcomed and appreciated (like literally warms my heart) :)

RATING: T  
WORD COUNT: 2,911  
POV: Bruce & Clark

~[B]~

God, if all the smiles and laughs he's seen from Clark Kent rendered him speechless, this one may very well kill him. He had to bite down on a laugh when Clark squawked in surprise when Bruce grabbed him but watching him now was a sight. The cityscape moved past them in a blur of artificial stars, as the clarion call that was Clark's laugh enveloped Bruce's being. His head thrown back, the wind raked through his hair with wild abandon as he leaned closer to the sky. _He has dimples._ Shaking out of his contemplation, Clark felt lighter in Bruce's arms while they were in the air almost as if he were to let go, Clark would take flight.

When they landed, Clark with a bashful smile on his face said breathlessly, "Talk about sweeping a guy off his feet." Bruce started to walk away, the Gotham Bat shouldn’t be seen standing around idly, "Car's this way." 

The building they were on was a two-story walk-up, it wasn't a hard jump to pull off. Was it necessary, no, but Bruce would never admit that and Clark never mentioned it. Yet, when he turned around Clark was already standing there. Careful not to show his surprise, "How did you get down?" Clark barely looked ruffled, he seemed to have floated down from the roof. A small, enigmatic smile formed on his lips before turning, "Nice car," he circled around it giving an appreciative hum.

"You didn't answer my question."

"You're right, and I'm not planning on answering it."

"Why?"

"Because you're smart. I'm positive you can figure it out." Bruce rolled his eye, "Even though I can't see you roll your eyes doesn't mean I can't feel it."

Scoffing, "You seem to have a lot of faith in me." 

Clark shrugged with a smirk, "Color me hopeful."

Bruce shook his head before gesturing to the Batmobile, "Get in."

"Why would I get in the car of a mysterious man dressed as a bat?"

"Because it won't be the most idiotic thing you've done tonight." Clark's gaze went from soft and teasing to sharp in an instant; he made is way over settling inches away from his face. Bruce absently noticed, for some reason, that they were about the same height; no one looked down nor stretched to meet gazes. It wasn’t important, but they were equals in a way. Clark narrowed his eyes, "Meaning?"

“Going into a known crime lord’s office _alone_ wasn't the greatest idea. I'd, in fact, call it _profoundly_ idiotic."

Scoffing, "That's because _you_ think I couldn't handle _myself_." 

"Sure you can."

An emotion flicked across his eyes too fast for Bruce to garner what it was before his face settled on a mixture of exasperation and steely determination. A bitter laugh escaped his mouth, " I can handle myself just fine." Brushing past him, "Maybe you’d prefer it if I showcased everything I can do. Give up the game, perhaps? Prove you wrong, maybe? Show you all the things I can handle? Would that satisfy you, Detective?"

"Handle? How would you’ve even gotten out of that office? Let alone playoff having whatever information you stole.” 

Spinning on his heels, “I don't need to explain myself to you, and the fact you thought I couldn't've gotten out that office on my own means you haven't been paying attention. Besides if shit really hit the fan I could always say it just showed up in my mailbox. That happens too often to journalists, especially the _Daily Planet_ staff, to deny." 

“The mob will start tailing you.”

“Oh, they can join the line of people watching me,” Clark said with a pointed look.

“They will try to kill you.”

“Oh no," he gasped, "How gosh darn terrible! How could I possibly deal with another person that wants to kill me?”

Bruce blinked at the statement, “People already want to kill you?”

“I get death threats on the regular, and the last attempt on my life was last month. What’s one more.” Clark said this with a disturbing amount irreverence that sent a chill down Bruce’s spine. It was like his life meant nothing to him, or more likely, he was practically untouchable. If so, why? What made Clark Kent, _Daily Planet_ investigative journalist untouchable? “Look, I’ve got a crap ton of enemies in my public and private life. I don't think one more will make much of a difference.”

“Who wants you dead?” Clark shrugged off the question before turning around and getting into the car.

:::

Neither of them spoke for the entire drive. For the most part, Clark starred out the window, and Bruce focused on the road. He'd occasionally glance at his passenger, Clark looked exhausted, more so than he did at _The Iceberg_ , and Bruce wasn't sure if he liked that. Clark shifted in his seat, "Here should be fine," they were about three blocks from his hotel, a bit further than where Bruce was actually going to drop him. He turned to Bruce rubbing the back of his neck, "Look, I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier. I know you didn't mean anything by it, so thanks for the easy getaway and the lift." He looked expectantly for a moment before sighing and reaching for the door handle.

"Who else has access to your work?" Clark tilted his head and furrowed his brow, opening his mouth then closing it forming a small frown. He looked ~~adorable~~ confused. It took him a second before catching on to what specifically Bruce was referencing, "Oh... um... Bruce Wayne has the only physical copy, and all digital is on a highly secured network." His face was serious, but his eyes were laughing. A smile threatens to surface on Bruce's face. He seemed to be developing a habit of doing that around Clark Kent. "How secure is the network?"

"Extremely. You're welcome to try and find it," there was that smile again, enigmatic and challenging. It was annoying being left in the dark, but it only spurred Bruce on to find out everything he was hiding, to chase after Clark. It was a dangerous thought to have, and the terrifying rightness of it prickled at the back of his mind. Like every intrinsic part of his brain collectively went, _This one._ "How does a reporter have access to a network so secure that you think I can't get to it?" Bruce knew he wasn't going to get an answer, or he was going to get something unsatisfyingly vague the moment he saw the beginnings of Clark's brighter than the sun smile. "Fine. Don't answer. Earlier you implied you have two lives: a public and private one. Why?"

"Because I do. Same as you."

"Meaning?" Clark studied his face for a minute. There was a raw nakedness in his gaze, a mixture of hope and apprehension. He turns away and glances back before nodding to himself, "Same as you." His voice was small, almost fragile, but there was utter surety in his statement that wasn't up for debate. Clearing his throat, "Stay safe, and have a good night, Detective." Before stepping out of the car.

:::

Bruce watched him walk to his hotel. The moon hung low and menacing in the sky, smiling at the city below. The buildings here were too tall and close together creating shadows that shouldn't be, harboring danger. Neon signs bathed the area in technicolor; illuminating the fog that swirled and writhed around Clark. It made Bruce feel uneasy watching Clark walk through the darkness, it was like he was being consumed by Gotham: torn apart, debauched, and left to rot like all things. He watched Clark enter his room before heading back to the Batmobile.

 

Clark left Gotham the next day, and Bruce began his research that night.

* * *

~[C]~

It felt good to be back in the hum and rhythm of Metropolis and the light of the sun. Gotham was alright, but it never sat right with Clark. The sound of it, the life within it was evasive, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't shift into the beat the city danced to. That was beside the point, he had been lucky, nothing major requiring his attention happened while he was away, and Clark had gotten all that he could out of the city. This was good, Clark reasoned. He had four days to get as much work done before returning to work.

:::

This was not the case. The second he stepped foot into his apartment, everything started screaming for his attention again. Landslides, earthquakes, wildfire, typhoons among other things pulled him in every possible direction, but it was okay he was used to this; and Clark was being honest with himself, he was exhausted, but being Superman generally was when he was in heats. The fact that he actively takes lower doses of suppressants than what would be "medically recommended" for his hormonal level doesn't exactly help. The cramps, nausea, increase in temperature, the urge to be knotted were all very present, but between the choices of being blissed-out and out of control due to estrus or hopped up and in a drunken stupor on suppressants, Clark gladly chooses mild heat symptoms with a mostly clear mind. So the world gets Superman even when he's heating and suffering from the power deficient, and Clark Kent's neighbors still get to smell an Omega in heat. It was a Pyrrhic victory really. 

Clark returned to work with no headway made on his case and judging by the looks he was getting looked as good as he felt. His brain felt like cotton candy, sugar-spun and unstable; everything moved in a blur around him as the tendrils of heat still had a firm grasp on him. Clark was still in high heat, he grasped before the tough receded back into the fog. Clark Kent only gets four heating day (not enough for Clark to actually finish his cycle, but enough to break high heat most of the time). Why he was this fuzzy still evaded him, however. 

It wasn't until he and Lois were sitting to have lunch at, _...Bibbo's_ did Clark realize that this was the first he's been around food in three days. Just drinking water was starting to lift the fog slightly. There was a hand on his. Clark's eyes lazily drifted up to a smirking face contrasted with underlying concern, "You good, Smallville?" Lois. Clark blinked as his mind slowly parsed the meaning of what was being said to him, "Yeah... yeah I'm good." His face tightened as a sharp pain radiated from his abdomen, "Just finishing up, you know how it is," hopefully waving off any unwanted scrutiny. He wasn't exactly sure what his face was doing, but Clark was trying for a smile.

 _High heat._ That idea still buzzed around in his mind, prickling at his brain as he desperately tried to determine why that was so important. The water sliding down his throat felt truly divine. _Did I say that? Why was Lois watching me like that?_ cut through the fog like nothing. Clark felt a gentle yet insistent pressure on his face, pulling him up, "You take suppressant and birth control right?" Clark nodded as he leaned into the touch closing his eyes. The darkness helped some, _high heat_ , the effects of it shouldn’t be this strong. "We need to get you home. I think you're still in heat." 

"No... no, I'm fine Lo," his vision was tunneling, "just need to take more suppressants." Clark pressed his forehead to the table as another earth-shattering cramp raged across his body. His throat worked to compensate for the saccharine flavor of the Omega hormone gathering in his mouth. That was bad, only Alphas should do that not very Omega, very _human_ Clark Kent, an urgent voice in his mind said.

A glass of water and some food was pushed in front of him, as soon as the smell of the food hit him Clark's stomach twisted in protest; he didn't feel hungry but knew he had to eat. With brutal efficacy and cautiousness, he ate, making sure to avoid actually tasting what he was eating. Soon the fog clouding his mind began to lift slightly. Connections slowly started forming in his mind.

The fact he was in high heat mattered because that means the suppressants failed. Actually, Clark couldn’t even remember taking suppressants. He ran through his morning in his mind; he got back from the Fortress, showered, scent blocked and guarded, birth control, got dressed then left. Shit. How could he have forgotten something that important, and imperative to keeping Clark Kent looking like a low-level Omega.. Clark wondered how he survived high school before he started getting suppressants from the Fortress. The increased exposure to the sun coupled with a lack of food, water, sleep probably contributed to his state of mind. He doesn’t remember his mind being this muddy when he started to present. It was something to look into. Despite the fact, Clark didn't need to basic things like food, water, sleep to survive did not make them any less important to his mental and physical health. Eating was probably the biological imperative that the most important and the one that was forgotten most often. Not that his paycheck could handle him eating more than he already does.

He was going on a tangent. Refocusing back to his original line of questioning, Clark realized that his symptoms got worse when he entered the diner. His most of his senses were dimmed, but he could smell the uptick in Alpha and Omega scent around him and if he strained he heard the blood rushing through arteries, heart rates increasing, eyes dilating. A steady flush crept across Clark's skin, the shifting of his clothes sent shivers down his spine. Much to his dismay his vision defocused, trying to refocus holds the potential of triggering heat vision, so unless he wanted to incinerate Lois it was a no go. "Lois? I think I need to go home." He hated leaving the other patrons, but there wasn't much he could do whilst he was compromised.

:::

Thankfully his apartment wasn't far from the Bibbo's. It was a safe comfortable place for him, not his actual nest, but no one needs to know that. Lois shifted around in the kitchen, "Are you serious Clark. You barely have anything here," she called out. He wasn't much of a host currently, rather he focused on his the desolate _lack_ within.

Clark stayed on his couch with his face buried into the cushions for... he wasn't sure how long. It was enough, however, for Lois's fierce but warm, completely Beta scent to mingle with his; it barely had an Alpha edge to it, but it was there. She presented him a sandwich and water, coaxed him to eat, petted his head when she notices him folding in on himself. She'd be a wonderful mate if she didn't have eyes for Superman only and not Clark. Thinking about it hurts a bit, but that was okay. Placing a hand on his shoulder, "Hey, I have to go now, but I'll let Perry know what's up." She shifted from foot to foot before walking to the window and drawing the blinds. "Man," she sighed muttering to herself, "I haven't tended to someone since Lucy." There was more shuffling, it sounded like she was doing a final sweep of the place. Clark sat up and stretched, "Thank you."

She snorted, "No problem, someone has to make sure you don't starve to death. Anyway, I'm going off the assumption you don't really remember the morning meaning, but you're assigned Luthor's self-congratulatory 'I'm very important rich Alpha' event tomorrow. You think you'll be fine by then." Clark vaguely remembered that, and there was no way he was going to miss an opportunity to snoop around LexCorp. All it meant was that he had to work around his current status. "Yeah, I should be good," he gave her a soft smile, "and thanks again. You really didn't need to do more than drop me here and leave."

"Like I'd do that," she scoffed before leaving. Once she was out of earshot, Clark got up and made his way to the bathroom. Under the sink next to a causally large amount of cleaning supplies and first aid kit, inside a box with razors and shaving gel he doesn't use, along with other general toiletries, there was a long crystalline box. Clark gingerly placed it on the washbasin, inside there was a series of opaque bottles that perfectly span the width of the box. Each is labeled in block letter font from O-12 to O-2. Chastising himself, "How did I forget this," before taking the O-4 bottle and taking a pill. After he secured the box again, Clark sat on his bed and removed his father's watch before putting on a black bracelet that was almost flush with his skin. Deep red energy lines ran across the circumference after Clark double taped the center. He felt the slow drainage of his powers begin as his cells began to switch from yellow star radiation to its preferred red. It was safer this way, no one could get hurt from his powers if he didn't have any to activate.

He laid in bed curled in on himself thinking of egocentric megalomaniacs and heat and rut inducers.


	4. A Night to Remember pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love how as soon as I set a schedule I break it.
> 
> Sorry for the delay, I had some hard core writers block and didn't really write anything until the last few days. I'll try to do better (hopefully).
> 
> All mistakes are mine.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.

RATING: T  
WORD COUNT: 2,432  
POV: Bruce & Clark

~[C]~

Lex Luthor's parties were always a mixture of an opulent display of wealth, the likes of which few have seen, and an uncomfortable adherence to high society values. The attendees were almost exclusively Alpha with the rare Beta. Despite this being an event relating to business, and Betas composing a large proportion of the business sector. Like the other Omegas, present Clark was in "appropriate attire." His suit was stiff-necked and high collared, it hugged his shoulders and cut into his waist; tailor-made to be restrictive and drew attention to his being. Not that he got said attention it was more like glances here and there, and mildly annoyed grumbles when he'd ask for comments.

For all outward appearances he looked normal, but it was havoc on the inside. The room was torturous with the scent of Alpha -thick, hot, heavy, earthy- that assaulted Clark's senses. Making his _want_ increasingly forceful and inescapable. It was becoming hard to maintain a clear headspace. The swirling blend of scents was a blessing and a curse, there was never one scent to latch onto, but being surrounded on all sides by the smell of Alphas wasn’t doing great things to Clark's mental state.

A lascivious fog started to creep across his mind dragging him away from the conscious space he created, leaving Clark in a limbo. A place where he was aware enough not to do anything obscene, but loose enough to be daring. Until Clark's mind comes back online, he was a free agent not bound by convention or inhibitions. It was an unnerving prospect, to say the least, he was simultaneously dangerous and vulnerable. Red sun radiation took away the powers given from a yellow, but he was still an adult Kryptonian in peak physical condition on a planet with a lower gravitational force. Clark couldn't fly or use heat vision; he can, however, cause damage. It was like taking a weight off his shoulders, but he could never truly relax.

:::

Clark is getting flirtier when he interacted with people, he can feel it. His eyes lingering a second too long inviting others to come to him rather than he to them; some of it was not intentional, others were. The reins Clark usually had on his self-control were slipping. He must be a sight, Clark absently thought, something that screamed vulnerable Omega reporter that’s out of their depth. It was a disheartening prospect to think about; Clark was a lot of things, but vulnerable was rarely one.

It took a whole eight minutes before Clark was approached by Luthor. Lex was never one to pass up an opportunity to get in bed with the fourth estate especially if he thinks he can get a more than favorable outcome. The only issue was, was that Clark couldn't tell where he was falling in the interactions he had. There was a fine line between professionalism with a guiding -albeit manipulative- hand that came with a healthy side of plausible deniability, and pure flirtation. It was hard to determine if Clark was leading the conversation or following like a lamb to slaughter.

If he was honest he didn't feel very keen at the moment, Lex Luthor set Clark on edge. For good reason, but even when he wasn’t on a tirade about the “Alien Menace” plaguing the city, Luthor’s morality was dubious on the best of days. His repertoire generally consisted of corrupt business practices, unethical experiments, life-threatening projects, coverups, and all around unpleasantness. Not to mention Luthor's scent caused Clark's stomach to recoil -acrid and bitter with the barest undertones of decay- Lex Luthor smelled like _death_. It took everything Clark had to maintain a straight face, and give the man a small tense smile rather than backing away.

Luthor had the sort of smile that was more a show of teeth than anything else, a signal of the man's caste and projected strength. An act that was a simple display of aggression used to get others to bend to his will. It most likely worked too, despite being the lower ends of Alphas, Luthor was a force to be reckoned with. The blatant show of aggression, however, left Clark thinking the man was compensating for his level and unimpressed. It is seen as disrespectful of an Omega to maintain eye contact with an Alpha, so Clark allowed himself to linger a second passed convention before averting his gaze.

When Lex got into Clark's scent bubble the smile twisted into a leer as his movements turned predatory. "Mr. Kent, what a wonderful surprise," Luthor's words dripped with explicit intent. Lex shifted into Clark's space; placing a hand of his shoulder, shaking Clark as Luthor initiated a handshake. Luthor squeezed Clark's hand, but Clark refused to show that it had any effect. Most of the time Clark likes to keep Clark Kent's handshake was on the limp side, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that in this case.. Clark sent a toothy smile Luthor's way, "Well, Mr. Luthor, _The Daily Planet_ had to send someone," a silent message telling Lex to back-off and out of my space. Luthor didn't back away, he moved closer surrounding Clark in his scent. The hand on his shoulder slid to his bicep, "Walk with me," as soon as the request was made Luthor began walking away with Clark in tow. "You have quite a bit of muscle mass there Kent, grew up on a farm," it wasn't a question.

"Yes, I did."

"Impressive. You still work there."

"When I can."

Lex chuckled, "So brusque Mr. Kent, you need to be better at conversations." _Or have a better partner_ , Clark lightly scoffed at the thought.

"Well Mr. Luthor, this conversation isn't really about me."

A sigh. "No, I suppose it isn't."

* * *

~[B]~

Bruce didn’t want to be here, but he had as the face of Wayne Enterprises. The chairmen all but demanded his presence with a distinct lack of reckless shenanigans Bruce Wayne was known for. It made for a boring night at what basically amounted to a party that was purely an exercise in self-congratulation and masturbatory ego stroking.

The room was heavy with the scent of Alpha, different businessmen and women, CEOs and Board Members were scattered around the villa. The walls had large, seamless glass windows with a glittering view Metropolis in the distance. It looked like a cheap postcard. People surrounded Bruce too readily and with a familiarity they didn’t have. Reporters sporadically approached him and bombarded Bruce with what was thought to be “gotcha” questions, whom soon stalked away when given an answer that sounds like a press statement.

Bruce milled around the room drifting on the outskirts of conversation catching snippets here and there about mundane matters until the scent of an angry Alpha got his attention. Moving carefully, he saw Lex Luthor shoulders squared with an aggressive show of teeth, and in front of him was Clark, who was flipping through a small notepad. He was unfazed by the Alpha presenting aggressive behavior. As far Bruce could tell Clark nonchalance only added to Luthor's agitation. The guests were scarce here. Generally, people don’t like being around anger Alphas. Bruce willed himself to move away despite his parents showing him how to be a decent human being, Alfred’s teachings on being a proper gentleman, to his own moral code, this was not Bruce Wayne’s fight. As Bruce made his mind to leave the pair be, there was a hand on his shoulder; it was controlling and was accompanied by an unmistakable Alpha musk. Luthor pulled himself to Bruce’s side all smiles and compliments. “Bruce! It’s been too long,” Luthor laughs.

"Not long enough _Lexie_ ," Luthor grinds his teeth, but the smile remained nonetheless as he guided Bruce back to the main gathering of people, making grand ideas and plans of LexCorp and Wayne Enterprises working on a project together. It never takes Luthor long to get going on a string of sentences made to impress; honestly, Bruce doesn't even speak during these rants of his, he just smiles, nods, makes noises of wonder here and there while tuning Luthor out. Bruce looked back to see Clark walking down a dimly lit hallway.

:::

The moment they were away from Clark, Luthor's tone went from 'forced casual' to 'held at gunpoint' the second Bruce made it clear he wasn't leaving. It was honestly the best tactic to get away from Luthor, Bruce discovered, was to appear like you want to be in a conversation with him. "So Lexie, you wanted to talk?" Bruce caught the attention of one of the waitresses milling around and grabbed two drinks from her tray, "Catch up a little?" He held a drink out to Lex, who took it with reluctance. Bruce waved the waitress off before taking a long drag from the glass, "That hits the spot," Bruce grinned. "First drink of the night; that's all I'm 'allowed' to have, can you believe that?"

"Yes. I can," Lex swirled the champagne in the glass. "Bruce," Luthor squeezed his shoulder, "You know we could do wonderful things together. Wayne Ent-"

"Yeah, I see what you're getting at. I didn't know you were into that sort of thing Lexie."

Luthor narrowed his eyes, "What sort of thing?"

Bruce winked, "A merger obviously." 

The tension in Lex's shoulder eased away, "I wasn't suggesting something so drastic; if you're willing, however, then it's a discussion to be had." Luthor's smile was wolfish, and his scent dripped with satisfaction. How could it not, in his mind the vapid idiot known as Bruce Wayne made an offer he can’t refuse. "I mean, I've only ever been with one Alpha, so I'm not like crazy experienced with them, but you're a little sweeter smelling." A lazy smile spread across Bruce's face, "But we can have fun yeah?"

Some small part of Bruce took pleasure in watching Luthor's face morph into pure horror and raw anger. "I was making a business proposition, Wayne."

"Are you sure? Because it didn't sound businessy to me."

“I’m sure.” Lex bit out. 

“Oh, well that’s unfortunate.” Luthor’s face twisted further when he heard the sadness in Bruce’s voice; he then spun on his heels, and half marched half stomped away. 

:::

Bruce lingered around for a few more minutes before drifting toward the hallway he saw Clark go down. His scent was faint, but enough to make Bruce's hindbrain go wild. Bruce for his part mainly followed the scent trail Clark left with nothing more than his hand brushing against the wall every so often. He eventually came across the man standing in front of a service elevator. Clark looked over his shoulder, “Good evening, Mr. Wayne.”

“Mr. Kent.” Bruce noticed Clark's eyes first, his pupils were blown out leaving his iris to nothing more than thin rings around them. "Are you okay?" 

Clark shrugged before turning back to the elevator, "Could be a little better but nothing out of the ordinary."

Bruce grabs his wrist in an effort to Clark's attention, "You've been drugged."

"To hell and back," shaking Bruce off. "Hey, since you're here I could use some help."

"You know."

"Of course I know I've been drugged, I was the one that did it." Bruce raised his eyebrow at this. Nothing in his research into Clark indicated a drug problem or behavior indicative of addiction. "Look to give you the low down, I'm in heat and taking suppressants, and Luthor has a lot of energy being drawn to sub-basements that don't exist."

"You're in heat?"

"I'm in heat."

"You're in heat. You're blocking your scent."

"And you're observant, Mr. Wayne." Whatever blockers he's using must be amazing to block the smell of his heat; where he gets these blockers Bruce didn't know, but he will.

"According to _The Daily Planet_ records you clocked in on Friday after your heat."

"Been keeping tabs on me?"

"Call it a hobby," Bruce smirked. "How many levels are there?" 

"Right hobby and I don't know."

"How do you know about these sub-basements?"

"A big blue bird told me."

"Does your Superman make a habit of spying on people, and if you're so buddy buddy with him why isn't he here?"

"Only the interesting ones, the suit isn't the greatest for stealth scenarios, and he's out of commission at the moment."

"Why?"

"Personal reasons," Clark sighed when Bruce narrowed his eyes, "Come." Clark all but dragged Bruce into a room with a suspiciously unlocked door. "I picked the door earlier. Do you have a device that can like jam signals?"

"I do."

"Good, use it." Bruce wasn't one to take orders, but he wasn't in the mood to go against Clark when information was on the line. "You keep your..." he waved his hand around, "your stuff on you?"

"Can never be too prepared," Bruce said once he activated the jammer. "Personal reasons, what kind of personal reasons."

"Biological."

"Can you get more specific."

"Not really."

"So let me get this straight, you know The Superman, you're close enough to ask him for favors I presume, knows when he's dealing with 'personal' stuff, but don't know why."

"I know why. I just said I'm not getting more specific."

"Look I get that you probably work for the guy but-"

"I don't work _for_ him," the amusement on his face made Bruce's brain go into overdrive.

" _With_ him, whatever. Why do you even need me, it's not like you can't do it yourself."

"I can't do it myself Bruce, that's the point of asking for help."

"Look, you don't need to be coy, I know what you can do."

Clark raised an eyebrow, "You do?"

"Of course. Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"No, the opposite in fact. What can I do then?"

Bruce rolled his eyes, "You can teleport. That's how you got into Cobblepot's office without being seen and how you got down from that building. You're a metahuman." A feeling that Bruce preferred not to identify washed over him. Clark was shaking, a smile threatening to make itself be known. "Bruce," he laughed, "I can't teleport. I wish I could, that would be a nice addition, but that's one thing I can't do."

Bruce was dumbfounded, "But you _can_ do something."

"Well yeah," Clark motions to the door, "Let's go before people notice you're gone."

Bruce was determined not to let this go, "So what can you do?"

Clark paused in front of the door for a moment before tossing a smile over his shoulder, "I can fly for one."

 

 

 

_Oh._


	5. A Night to Remember pt. 2

RATING: T  
WORD COUNT: 1429  
POV: Bruce & Clark

~[B]~

Clark moves like the floor won't shatter with each step, and the walls won't cave in by brushing against it; a perfect replica of the sorta careless ambling motion of a person in a world that can’t break around them. His glasses are fake, but he still messes with them; he plays with his hair just as much, however. His bone structure is slightly different than human, but not something terribly noticeable if you’re not looking for it. How could he have not noticed? Images of Superman, blurry as they are, is literally Clark with a different hairstyle. It still begged the question as to why a god among men walks as a mortal?

They didn’t speak. Clark stares, unseeing, at the floor indicator, and Bruce's mind races. The harsh fluorescent light created a monotonous hum and obliterated all shadows, but the ones they cast. "Will you stop that?"

"Stop what?" Bruce asks.

"Trying to burn holes into my head. I can practically hear the gears at work in your head."

"You probably can." There was no hostility in Bruce’s words, just a simple fact. Clark rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything negate the statement. The doors opposite to the ones they entered, opened with a ding.

They stepped into a dimly light hallway, their shared footsteps the only sound. The hallway eventually led to a platform that sat above what looked to be a stereotypical villain's lair. The ceilings were high and shadowed by girders and trusses, the walls were mostly glass looking into rooms that housed data banks and various scientific instruments. There was a control panel in the main area that was slightly elevated off the ground. The embedded lights in the floor cast a green hue across everything. It sort of reminded Bruce of the _Emerald City_ , Clark, on the other hand, seemed uneased.

The platform they were standing on began to lower, seamlessly embedding itself into the floor. "You have a gift for understatement, you know that."

Clark walked off the platform and looked around, "My sources tend to be pretty accurate."

"And this time?"

"Couldn't get a clear picture," he winked. Lead. It was well known that Superman can't see through it. An idiotic detail to have known, in Bruce's opinion, but ingenious nonetheless. Only someone hiding from Superman would want that amount of lead around them. "Not that I don't love doing this, but is your end goal here?"

Clark walked off the platform, and slowly span in a circle before snapping back to Bruce. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"What's your goal in all of this?"

"Oh," Clark motioned to follow him, "So, this isn't particularly Luthor orientated, but it's in his general wheelhouse," Clark said in a hushed tone. "Lex adjacent if you will."

"Anything in particular?" Clark raised an eyebrow and gestured to the room to which Bruce rolled his eyes.

"I'd love to elaborate, but not here." Whatever he was looking for Clark was being pointedly tight-lipped on the matter; moving deeper into Luthor's facility with the steady and sure steps of someone apparently used to their surroundings.  
Clark moves like the floor won't shatter with each step, and the walls won't cave in by brushing against it; a perfect replica of the sorta careless ambling motion of a person in a world that can’t break around them. His glasses are fake, but he still messes with them; he plays with his hair just as much, however. His bone structure is slightly different than human, but not something terribly noticeable if you’re not looking for it. How could he have not noticed? Images of Superman, blurry as they are, is literally Clark with a different hairstyle. It still begged the question as to why a god among men walks as a mortal?

* * *

~[C]~

Clark knew whatever Luthor was hiding under his villa was going to be expansive, but he wasn’t expecting what he found, to say the least. It would be a fool’s errand to try to hack Lex, and that was why doing this so important. It was a small thing Clark had come to learn in his sporadic observation of Luthor; for all his bravado and intelligence, Lex's hubris is his ultimate downfall. Despite having an impregnable security generally, once one was in the sub-basement there was a drop-off point in sophistication. The security was not something Clark would be able to do, but Batman in evening wear might. A long shot he knows, but what Clark saw in Bruce's meticulous handling of his finances, allowed himself to trust that paranoid nature.

And so they walked deeper and deeper and deeper still into the belly of Lex's underground lab. The only sound their stead and ultimately aimless steps until they came across a large metal door. Unlike the others, Bruce and Clark passed this one was circular. Clark placed his hand on the door, "...It's cold." Almost painfully so. Like tiny needles stabbing Clark's hand and burning his nerve endings, for the second he was in contact with the door. There was a _clang_ that came from above that stole Clark's attention from the door. The lights above them began to flicker, Bruce paid no mind to it, however; he was staring with bated breath as the steel door began to open.

:::

There was a soft hiss of hydraulics as the door smoothly opened, and if Clark had to put a description to what he witnessed -- it was oddly organic and was not unlike a sphincter relaxing. Clark followed Bruce down a hallway until they entered a room. It was cold and sterile but visceral non-the-less. The walls were made of a material that seemed to quiver and writhe as they moved. The room itself was like an indoor, sand garden, lit by hanging lanterns that were sporadically placed. The sand was fashioned like a river flowing around an archipelago of grass, rocks, pebbles, and bamboo, there were stepping stones embedded into the sand that went down each winding path.

There was a demented, ethereal wonder to the garden; Clark couldn't deny the fact it was beautiful, but he couldn't deny the way the shadows moved either. It was more than a trick of the light, unnerving really. Down one of the paths, Clark saw something, for a brief second a flicker of movement, and the creeping impression that a thousand eyes were preying down on him. On top of all that Bruce was nowhere to be seen. Clark strained to hear the faintest sound of something, anything but heard nothing but the rustling of leaves and swaying of bamboo stacks. And so, picked one of the trails and traveled down it.

* * *

~[B]~

Bruce found the garden peaceful despite finding himself underground in a structure that seems to be completely separate from the rest of the facility. It was missing Luthor's signature style industrial flare and leaned to natural curves, lines, and imagery. Bruce snapped out of his thoughts when he saw something shifts in the darkness, or so he thought, on closer inspection, there was nothing there. But when he turned to see if Clark had seen something, he found himself alone. Even the air was scentless; it was like the omega just disappeared, or he wasn't real, to begin with.

Bruce continued down the winding path, figuring all roads led to the same spot eventually. The room seemed to be made to aimlessly walk. Bruce debated whether or not he should call out for Clark, but was unsure if there was a system in place monitoring the noise level. He wouldn't put it past Luthor to have something of that nature. The air suddenly shifted. And it was moments like this where Bruce hated being in civilian wear. There wasn't much he could do without giving himself away. Not here at least. Not with the possibility of Luthor monitoring him closely, Bruce thought as he fingered the batarang in his inner pocket.

The clang of fans rang out across the room causing the temperature to drop. The air was electric. A sense of unease washed over Bruce. Something was there. In the shadows. He could see it out of the corner of his eyes. Moving, ever so slowly; an inky black mass. As disturbing as it was, it didn't appear hostile. Not yet at least. If anything it seemed to be corralling him down a particular path; blocking off the way he and Clark entered from.

:::

Bruce wasn't sure how long he walked, nor how far. Time seemed slippery here. Hours and minutes merged and warped, like spacetime itself was bending around this room, or the room exhibited itself in the fourth dimensions. Perhaps this room was an elaborate dreamscape, Bruce chuckled at the thought. God, it was a desperate grab, it wasn't out of the question, but nothing had happened that warranted a dreamscape. So, Bruce walked until he came across a door identical to the one they entered.

There was a noise -- to his left -- and there standing next to Bruce is Clark, like he's been there the whole time. With a sardonic grin, "Best date ever, amiright?" Clark says. Bruce scoffs at the statement, but if he was being honest, this is definitely a memorable one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being gone for so long I got super busy with school, and this other projects I was working on (it also didn't help that I had writers blocks for the longest for this story). But I got it up before the new year so I'm not a complete failure lol. Buuuut if you wanna know what I'm up to or if you have any questions I finally made a writing tumblr you can find me at SuperRealHuman and if you have a Pillowfort I'm SuperReal. Love to talk to you gorgeous people that are somehow still here.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are always appreciated :)


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